


Looking after Lily

by vulgarshudder



Series: A lily among thorns [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Omega John, Omega Verse, Parentlock, Postpartum Depression, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-13 18:02:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulgarshudder/pseuds/vulgarshudder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John brings home his new baby to Baker Street to live with Sherlock, and finds adjusting to life with a baby he had wanted to give up for adoption difficult.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This series is back! I've been sitting on this chapter far too long so I think it's time to get it out and get the next part of the series rolling! Thank you to my beta as always for correcting my grammar and giving me regular pokes to not procrastinate!

John was pleasantly surprised of the nice central location and beautiful Victorian styling of the outside of 221B. It really had been better than he could have hoped for. Sherlock had opened the heavy door with a flourish, letting him go up the stairs with Lily first. At the top of the stairs though as Sherlock took his coat off behind him, when he saw the actual flat he stopped.

The living room was an eclectic mess, books and files piled up everywhere. A few steps in and he could see the kitchen, which had a full chemistry set on the kitchen table.

Lily unsettled in his arms, and he tried to jog her to settle her. This was not a home anywhere near ready for a baby.

Sherlock brushed past him, relieved John of the baby bag Lestrade had retrieved from the adoptive parents and settled his elbow onto the fireplace next to a human skull. "It's a nice place," he declared proudly.

Maybe if it was tidied up, but god how was he going to have time to do that? Then there was all the baby things he needed to get, how was he going to afford that?

John felt ridiculous, but he couldn't help it, he burst out crying. He guessed it was coming down from the wave of hormones over the past few weeks. Then in turn Lily start crying too.

Sherlock looked confused from his place by the fireplace. "What's wrong?" he asked.

John tried in vain to stop his tears, trying to calm the baby too. He gave her a kiss and tried to shush her, it didn't work though. He didn't know what he was doing, did he?

"Nothing," John tried to avail his new flatmates worries. "It'll be lovely."

Sherlock's eyes went around the room, and he seemed to twig what John was thinking. "I can tidy up a bit," he said picking up a stack of journals, and moving them onto another stack.

John could see it was going to be him tidying up in the end, but he tried to get back some British resolve. "It's fine," he told Sherlock going to sit down on the sofa to try and settle Lily.

There was a slow thumping up the stairs, and an elderly lady came through the open door. "Sherlock!" she exclaimed, "where have you been all this time? What's going on?"

"Ah Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock went over to greet her with an unexpectedly warm hug and kiss. "I found a new flatmate, this is Dr. John Watson and Lily." he gestured over to John to the side.

Mrs. Hudson's eyes went over to John and Lily on the sofa, then back to Sherlock. "Oh..." then some light seemed to dawn in her eyes and she grinned, "Oh!" She gave Sherlock a playful smack on the arm, "You dark horse, you never told me you were courting let alone having a baby!"

John's mouth gapped open at her misunderstanding, not sure how to correct her.

Sherlock done it for him, "It's not my baby Mrs. Hudson, it is John's." Not biologically, or legally his own, but that was a mere technicality at this point.

Mrs. Hudson face fell into a moment of confusion before she seemed to shrug it off, she was obviously used to Sherlock's unconventional ways. "Well you better clean up young man, not right bringing a baby into how you live. I'm not doing it for you, I'm your landlady not your housekeeper." Lily was still irritable, and Mrs. Hudson came over to look at her, "Aww isn't she a darling, been a while since I had a baby under my roof. Had five with my first husband, all grown up now. Has she been fed?"

"No," John answered more than a little shell-shocked.

"Then she must be starving, where's the bag? I'll make the bottle just this once, you look all settled on there. How about a cup of tea too?" Before John could answer, she had picked up the bag to go into the kitchen, "Sherlock, why don't you be a dear and put some fresh sheets in the spare room," she glanced back at John and Sherlock "You will be needing the spare room?" she asked cautiously.

"Of course!" John said automatically, a blush creeping onto his cheeks and he averted his gaze down at Lily.

"Don't worry dear, we get all sorts around here. Mrs. Turner's lot well..." She lowered her voice, "I think each child has a different father. Not that I expect that to be happening with you, Sherlock here is a good sort although he makes it hard to tell sometimes. I expect once you settle down the next two or three will come along soon enough. Sherlock's a nice virile alpha, I may be past my child bearing years but I'm still an omega; I can tell these things." She winked at John and went into the kitchen humming to herself without giving him a chance at a rebuttal.

John wanted the world to open up and swallow him, Sherlock however seemed quietly pleased at Mrs. Hudson's glowing testament of his fertility. "I can do the bed sheets," he told John and dashed off up the second set of stairs with quite a spring in his step. 

oOo

After she had been fed, Lily soon settled down for a sleep and John took her up to the spare room that was to be their home. He laid her in the middle of the big double bed with the fresh white linen and ended up laying beside her just watching her sleep.

He felt agitated in this unfamiliar place and forced himself to take a few deep breaths. The flat smelt overwhelmingly of Sherlock, and he could hear the alpha moving around downstairs. John could not shake the feeling that someone would come and take her again, so many scenarios.

John watched the slow movement of her chest, and reasoned that with Sherlock about no one would take her. He curled his knees up around her and allowed the exhaustion of his body to pull him into sleep.

His rest was short lived, and some noises made him jerk awake. It was just Lily, who looked like she was about to cry. "Hey hey..." He picked her up trying to sooth her, rubbing her back in small circles. "I guess you need changing..."

He managed to muddle his way through the array of wipes and talcum powder, and feeling at least one small hurdle overcome, picked her up to take her downstairs.

When he reached the bottom, John stopped. There had been some effort to tidy up, whether that was Sherlock or Mrs. Hudson's doing he wasn't sure. Most of the papers and folders had been piled up under the desk so the flat at least looked clearer now. Sherlock sat at the dining table using a laptop.

However, in place of the previous mess was now a pile of boxes and bags, in the green and gold colours of very well known department store. Some of the smaller ones were wrapped in delicate pink paper topped off with large ribbons.

"Uh Sherlock," John began, indicating the boxes best he could with Lily pressed against his shoulder.

The detective looked up from the laptop, "Ah John, they are for you. The owner owes me a favour, I told him I had had a baby and he has gifted these, I think you will find them useful." 

John went closer to the pile, and peered inside some of the bags. Inside were baby clothes, toys, bottles, and anything else one might need for a newborn baby.

"I think more might be arriving at a later date, he was rather pleased at the job I done for him."

John gave him a look, "What kind of job? Oh God, did you investigate...?"

Sherlock waved him off, "No, of course not, paranoid conspiracy theories are dull. The MI5 agent on his staff was not so fanciful, and I was only too happy to root him out." He looked over the boxes himself, as if noticing just how many there were, "Paranoid billionaires who are proved right are generous though."

John raised his eyebrows, "I see..." A grin slowly spread across his face, "Thank you."

Sherlock shrugged, and went back to working at his laptop.

John shifted Lily a bit, "I need to make a bottle." He hesitated a bit, "Can you hold her while I do it?"

It was Sherlock's turn to look surprised. John had seen him with Molly's baby, and here he was letting him hold his own child? "Well I suppose...you'll be in the kitchen?"

"Yes, you'll be fine Sherlock, it will only be a few minutes." John tried to reassure the detective and leaned down to pass her over. Sherlock was ridiculously stiff again. "Just put her head there," he arranged the baby until she was in a more comfortable position. "That should do it, ok I'll feed her and then we can see whether there is something in these boxes to sit her in."

John wiped his hands on his jeans, and went over to the kitchen to start making up a bottle of formula, leaving Sherlock literally holding the baby.

Sherlock watched John moving about the kitchen, and when he was satisfied the omega really wasn't going anywhere too far looked down at the baby in his arms. At this stage her vision would be poor, she would just about be able to see far enough to recognise faces. She would soon recognise John's face, and there was a tingle of excitement as Sherlock wondered whether she would come to recognise him too.

Conventional wisdom saw babies as intelligent as a loaf of bread, a completely blank slate. However, a learning AI initially programmed with nothing would never learn anything. Recent theories were that babies were born smart, because they need those inbuilt neurological mechanisms to get smarter.

Sherlock smirked down at the baby, with his help he was sure John's baby could be very smart indeed. This really was a wonderful opportunity to track the development of human intelligence and morality thought to be inborn into all human beings.

He put his finger into her hand, and she reflectively grasped it with her tiny fingers, the palmer reflex. She was proving to be just as fascinating as her father.

oOo

John hadn't even realised his eyes had been closing, but they must have at some point. The past two weeks at Baker Street he had suffered sleep deprivation far worse than any medical school exam season. Lily didn't sleep through the night, and he was just adjusting to the endless routine of feed, burp, change and sleep.

Lily had just gone to sleep in her very posh basket, and John had sat down in the chair watching her, before he nodded off himself.

John wasn't sure how long he had slept when his eyes snapped open, searching for his baby. He always had this feeling that she would suddenly be gone again.

But before him Lily was still there in her basket, now awake and quite happy making the cooing and ahhing sounds that seemed to make all parents go gooey. John felt too tired to be able to appreciate them at the moment.

Beside her on the floor with his back against the leather chair was Sherlock with a pile of brown folders beside him.

"Hmmm...locked room murder Lily," Sherlock muttered as he flipped open a few papers. "But pedestrian! The lover did it. This barely ranks a 3," the alpha said in exasperation and threw the folder to the other side of the room, where John noticed it joined a pile of other haphazardly flung folders. Lily made a gurgling sound.

"I thought so too," Sherlock responded, and picked up another folder from the pile to his left. "This one is a household theft in Chelsea," Sherlock said again as he started flipping through papers and crime scene photos.

John blinked heavily, and rubbed his eyes to try and wake himself up. "What are you doing Sherlock? You're not showing crime scene photos to her are you?"

Sherlock frowned at John. "Of course not, she doesn't have the cognitive resources to understand the existence of an object hidden from view, let alone the complexities of a crime scene."

Still feeling tired and heavy from lack of sleep John restrained a groan. "Then why are you talking to her?"

"Mrs. Hudson took my skull. Besides, babies who have started to exhibit verbalisation develop their verbal abilities when their cues are responded to. The subject of the response is of no relevance."

Of course, Sherlock seemed to have an encyclopaedic knowledge of infant development and the latest research care of Google. "Just don't show her any of the gory photos..." John murmured, and as if on cue Lily let out a high pitched wail.

John groaned and got down onto the floor to lean over her. "What is it Lily?" he asked as if there was any hope of an answer. Her face was going red and was screwed up as she cried.

"She wants to be picked up," Sherlock supplied as he flicked open another page. 

John felt her nappy, and she didn't need changing. So he lifted her up out of the basket and cradled her gingerly to his shoulder. This was another thing Sherlock seemed to have a knack for, he seemed to be able to discern her cries from `I'm tired,` to `I'm over stimulated.` John couldn't tell one from the other yet, and it took him to forever to work out her needs. He had to go through a mental checklist and sometimes, even when he'd run through it all, she still cried.

John slumped against the sofa on the floor trying to settle her against his chest, but she didn't calm down. "What is it?" John asked, feeling despair creep up on him. She hadn't eaten that long ago, she was dry, he was holding her, why was she still crying?

Sherlock was studying him with the case file still open on his lap. "She likes to be held tighter John, she won't break." Sherlock slid the file onto the floor, and held out his arms for her. "Let me show you."

John leant forward to carefully hand her over, and Sherlock took her and wrapped his arms around her to hold her closely to his chest. Treacherously she stopped crying for Sherlock, and slowly settled into a sleep.

John looked at them a bit enviously. Sherlock didn't do any of the dirty work of looking after a baby; John was the one caring for her 24/7. But Sherlock seemed to understand her and know what she needed without John's bumbling. From where he was sitting right now, Lily seemed to prefer Sherlock, despite his rather cold and clinical handling of her. Maybe she sensed her birth father hadn't wanted her until a few weeks ago, which was irrational he knew.

Sherlock noticed John watching him with Lily, and the corner of his mouth twitched. "Her adoptive parents were in the habit of swaddling her," he started to explain. 

John's body tensed at the mention of her adoptive parents and the difficult memories they brought back, the lingering guilt for the pain he'd caused them.

Sherlock noticed the way John's jaw clenched, and seemed to realise his mistake in mentioning the adoptive parents. He finished his explanation quickly. "She finds the tightness soothing and associates it with sleep time."

Right. Sherlock Holmes: world's only consulting baby detective. At least she was sleeping again, and it wasn't worth disturbing her by taking her back. He let his head loll against the sofa, eyelids feeling heavy.

"You're tired." It wasn't a question.

A small laugh escaped from John, "I'm sure you've heard how many times she wakes up in the night."

"I'm awake anyway," Sherlock replied. The flat was filled with silence as the alpha seemed to hesitate, face unreadable. "You can take a sleep now. I can watch her."

This made John snap his head up, a bit uncertain how to respond to that. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"It's hardly quantum physics John. I have had ample opportunity to observe you over the past week and I believe I am capable of responding to her rather basic needs for a few hours." Sherlock assured him logically.

Logic seemed to be a thing that had escaped John over the past few weeks. He had been at the mercy of hormones and stress, and it had left him physically and emotionally exhausted.

He trusted Sherlock with his life, and truth be told the heady alpha scent that permeated the flat calmed the twitchy reptilian part of his brain and told it that this was a safe place, his alpha was there to protect him. His alpha? Jesus where had that come from? He needed sleep, he wasn't thinking straight.

Looking at the two of them now, Sherlock was probably in a much better state to look after her. John sighed. "Ok, I'll just take a short nap." His eyes were fixed on his baby who was now soundly asleep. "If she wakes she'll be hungry, so come get me and I can..."

Sherlock cut him off with a roll of his eyes. "I know what to do, morons are having babies every day and they seem to manage fine."

Which was probably true. Sherlock probably knew better than he did, John thought. He scrubbed his face. "Just get me if anything is wrong, OK?" John said for good measure, before getting off the floor to disappear up the stairs for maybe a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft makes an appearance.

Sherlock had no cases on at the moment, and was bored. The entire morning he had dissected the flat of any distraction and fiddled with ongoing experiments, but when that had exhausted itself he had sulked about in his pajamas. Not even Lily had been awake to provide a distraction from the abyss of boredom.

At some point, John had discovered there was no milk, and no Mrs. Hudson to borrow a pint from. Sherlock had probably never set foot in the closest Tesco, that went beyond any levels of tediousness Sherlock was willing to subject himself to. It was up to John if anyone wanted a cup of tea, but when the doctor had started looking for the baby carrier to put Lily in Sherlock had plucked her away from his arms and informed her father that the milk errand would be much more efficient if she stayed here with him. Sherlock held her tightly to his chest daring John to take his distraction from him. He'd been waiting all morning for her to wake up.

After a promise that Sherlock would not leave the flat, John had put his own jacket on saying he would be back soon, and to call if anything happened.

Sherlock had waved away John's unnecessary fretting, but was secretly pleased John had let him babysit. Over the past two months he'd managed to ingrain enough trust to look after the baby on his own, even if only for an hour.

He stood at the window with Lily still held close to him, watching John throw a few worried glances back up at them as he walked down Baker street. "There's Daddy. Don't worry he'll be back soon," he assured her, and when John was out of sight he spun with Lily a few times, giddy with delight to have her. There were always experiments he could try on her.

Looking for his stop watch in the clutter around his desk Sherlock didn't hear the door unlock, but when he heard the footsteps on the stairs he stopped and scowled. It was too early for John to be returning with milk, and the slow precise pace indicated it was the most unwelcome visitor.

"Go away," Sherlock growled, his mood instantly souring again, and dropped himself down into his armchair, pointedly not looking towards the door so he would not see the visitor enter the haven of the flat. Holding Lily protectively against his chest, she tugged at the collar of his dressing gown.

"I just thought I'd come to see you playing happy families," rich oily tones replied from the direction of the door before the insufferable figure of his brother Mycroft came into view as he took the armchair opposite; the armchair which John had, since moving in, unofficially claimed as his own. Sherlock wanted to pull the fat oaf out of it, he was messing up the scent of John which had settled into the plush velvet. But he didn't want to give Mycroft the satisfaction of such a reaction that would so easily show his hand, so instead he scowled and remained silent. 

His brother infuriatingly took his time to take in the changes to the flat, the additional clutter of baby things and toys, their bright garish colours standing out like a sore thumb against the muted earth tones of the flat. There was an undeniable look of distaste from his sensible older brother.

Mycroft let his expression fall into a fake half-smile when he finally laid eyes on Sherlock and Lily. "I must say I had always hoped for such a scene, he nodded his chin to the baby and gave the appearance of a pleasant smile, but disapproval hardened in his eyes, "but not under these circumstances, that's for sure."

"Piss off," Sherlock spat back. Lily was started by the harshness of his tone and started to make whining noises of distress that could easily turn into full-blown crying. This would not look good if John returned. Internally Sherlock panicked, trying to calm her by stroking her cheek, and she grasped his fingers to comfort herself by sucking on his finger.

Mycroft was watching them with an expression somewhere between confusion and disgust.

"What do you want Mycroft?" Sherlock asked, wanting to hasten his brother's departure.

Mycroft sank lower into the chair, his thin lips pursing together before speaking. "I never thought you foolish enough to allow yourself to be imprinted on an unbonded omega, to allow your hormones to trick you into raising a cuckoo."

Sherlock fought hard to keep his voice steady and calm, "Don't be so ludicrous. I do not need to explain my reasons to you."

"I fear that this unconventional living arrangement will prevent you from finding your own bond mate," Mycroft let out a little sigh and fought the urge to roll his eyes before continuing, "even if that was only a remote possibility to start with."

Sherlock gave a snort. "That was never going to happen and you know it."

"It isn't now you've got yourself attached to this stray and its whelp. Really, was it so much for you to find a bond mate in a conventional manner?"

Sherlock fixed a scowl on his brother, but before he could reply Mycroft continued. "As a fertile alpha you have a duty not only to the Holmes linage but to the country. Even you must be aware of the population crisis."

"You hypocrite. I am not a race horse. Don't pretend I am anything to do with your attempts at social engineering through legislature."

Mycroft averted his gaze down and flicked an invisible speck of dust from his bespoke suit. "You know that it is not possible for me to provide the heir, Sherlock. the Holmes name will die with you. Do not be under the impression that you can circumvent the messy biology necessities and can pass anything onto this bastard you have informally adopted. This is not enough to say you have done your duty to your birthright. I will not allow it to get anything, I will ensure that."

"I would not want her cursed with the Holmes legacy. Now, are you done?" Sherlock said sharply, unmoved by Mycroft's threats. He stood, still holding Lily protectively against him, indicating his brother should go.

Mycroft stood tugging at the bottom of his waistcoat before making to leave, but as he passed Sherlock the taller man leaned in close to his brother. "Her name is Lily," he said lowly, "You will never refer to her as a bastard again."

The threatening tone his brother had taken took Mycroft aback for a moment, and he regarded him closely before letting out a huff of breath of amusement. "Those Alpha hormones..." he said with a shake of his head. "This will so disappoint Mummy if she ever finds out," Mycroft warned before leaving the flat.

oOo

John trudged up the seventeen steps to the Baker Street flat, carrying a plastic shopping bag of milk and a few other impulse purchases that would do for their tea. Truthfully it felt a relief to be out of the flat. He had spent more time than strictly necessary in the supermarket, and he shuffled slowly home to prolong his alone time. 

There was no wailing that could be heard from the landing, which was a good indication that things had gone smoothly with Lily for Sherlock. He pushed his way into the main flat and scanned for them, quickly spotting the tall alpha stretched out on the sofa, with Lily sound asleep on his chest. Sherlock was clearly lost in some deep thought as his fingers stroked absently at the fine hair behind an ear.

It was a very sweet scene to behold, one that he never would have imagined from the acerbic alpha. John felt he did not belong in this picture, and swallowed hard before greeting Sherlock with a quiet `hey,` which was ignored anyway.

John left them and busied himself in the kitchen, putting things away as he waited for the kettle to boil. He made two cups of tea and took them into the living room, placing one by Sherlock and taking his own to his chair where he could watch them from a distance. "Were you both ok?" he asked, unnerved by the unusual silence of both his daughter and his flat mate.

"Fine," Sherlock replied without taking his eyes off some spot on the ceiling. His long fingers indicated the sleeping baby. "Familiar scents trigger an emotional response," he said as if that was the logical explanation for the rather cozy scene between them.

Without waiting for a response, Sherlock removed the baby from her position with a confident ease that John envied and got up from the sofa to deposit her in the Moses basket that was near John. "I'm going out," he informed the doctor.

"Oh, okay," John quietly acknowledged, watching Sherlock disappear into his bedroom, and within a few minutes appearing again in one of his impeccable suits. The detective offered neither an explanation as to where he was going or a goodbye before the door slammed on his way out.

John jumped slightly at the noise and glanced worriedly at Lily, relieved to see she was still asleep and there would be no need to pick her up to settle her.

How could Sherlock, the self proclaimed sociopath, get on with her so effortlessly? He had no genetic stake in her, but that didn't seem to matter to him.

John thought that Sherlock would avoid any attachment because neither of them had made moves to becoming bond mates, or maybe just the hormonal effect of having spent time together in John's last few months of pregnancy was enough? But if hormones could have such an effect on someone she was merely living with, why did they not have a similar effect on her biological father?

The pang of guilt deepened and tightened around his chest as he admitted to himself that looking at Lily was like looking at a stranger. This unknown person who had invaded his life, and where he expected the swell of love to grow had remained empty. 

Lily chose that precise moment to stir, and John scrunched his eyes closed to try and block it out for a few seconds, to hold onto the peace a bit longer before the avalanche started.

But it did, and John set his tea to the side to get cold and crouched down to pick her up out the basket and cuddle her. "Hey Lily, what's wrong?" he asked as he petted and cuddled her like Sherlock would have done, but to no avail.

She knew didn't she? John shook off the thoughts. "You're just hungry aren't you?" He reasoned, and hoped to God that was the case because Sherlock was not here to offer the comfort she could not find with him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's on a case, leaving John with baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates can happen, thank you for your patience, and many thanks to Aranel Parmadil for betaing.

Sherlock had a case on and had become an infrequent visitor to Baker Street. John really didn't have time to ask what he was up to; the detective would storm in at odd hours, the only evidence of his coming and goings would be books and old files flung across the floor in the morning when John woke up. Underground schematics from 1938, chemistry reference books, the good food guide from 1997. John couldn't work out the thread that might connect the things Sherlock was investigating, and on a third consecutive day of seeing neither hide nor hair of Sherlock he had sent a text:

_Still alive?_

The answer had come within two minutes.

_Obviously - SH_

John had to resign himself that Sherlock was doing whatever consulting detectives were apt to do. Well, since Sherlock was the world's only consulting detective, he was doing whatever Sherlock did. He did miss the alpha, that personality and presence that filled the flat so well that John could ignore his own failings.

Leaving John to look after Lily. Which should have been fine - he was her father after all, and he had chosen this. He had fought tooth and nail to get her back, thinking that would fulfill the aching emptiness of his chest.

But after three months, he had to conclude that it hadn't. There was still something empty and missing and he couldn't place what. Maybe this had been the reason he had decided all those years ago to not live as omega, because he knew deep down he'd be a terrible father.

It didn't help that this week Lily had been crying throughout the night, absolutely inconsolable. It was colic, John knew; continuous crying of three hours or more without any medical reason, and he had checked every possible cause. He may not be a paediatrician but he was a GP and could do enough to rule everything out. He imagined if this had been a patient visiting him, he'd put on his most sympathetic smile and tell them it was normal and she'd grow out of it, send them on their way with a pamphlet. Now he realised what a condescending prick he'd have sounded like.

Because now it was 4am, and Lily had been crying for the past five hours and absolutely nothing he could do could make her stop. He had had maybe a few hours’ sleep, caught here and there over the day time of the past few days. Maybe if Sherlock was here he'd have some miracle technique or even be a better enough person to handle it. But it was just John now on his own, and he had his back to her as she cried on the bed next to him. The noise seemed to cut through him, jarring parts of his pain and building the pressure behind his eyeballs. He could never sleep through this.

He rolled over and propped himself up to lean over her. "What can I do for you? I'll do anything," he pleaded, and of course she just wailed, her face red and tears rolling from the corners of her eyes. It physically pained him to see her in distress.

"Is it me?" He asked as he gingerly picked her up to look into her red face. "Do you want me to go?"

She was unchanged in her response, and John nodded. "I can do that for you," he said curtly, and shuffled off the bed to put her down in her crib. He gave her one last look, smoothing the flossy, white-blonde hair on her head before leaving the darkened bedroom, and didn't even bother switching on the lights to the empty flat as he went down into the main living area of the flat. Without even thinking, his hand was already on the deadbolt of the front door before he realised what he was doing.

John looked down at his feet. He noticed that he hadn't even got any shoes on.

He couldn't just leave, could he? He couldn't leave Lily all on her own. Of course not. He couldn't do that, but he couldn't face her anymore right now. He slunk into the living room and slouched down into his chair, the crying coming from upstairs at a more bearable level at least. He realised the further away he was from her, the easier it was for him.

John couldn't take this anymore and put his head in his hands to try and cover the hot tears building in his eyes that no one was there to see. The Afghanistan veteran, who had seen untold horrors and pushed himself to his physical and mental limits, was defeated by his own daughter. John cried, for failing his daughter and not being the father he should be.

He wasn't sure how long passed, but he was brought out of his private self-loathing by the sounds of the locks and the door opening. Swallowing hard, John straightened up, furiously wiping away the wetness from his cheeks before the lights came on.

When living room was illuminated he glanced to the doorway to see it was Sherlock, taking off his leather gloves and looking directly at him with suspicion. John quickly turned his body away from the taller man in a vain attempt to hide his emotional state from Sherlock, but the detective would know anyway; it was impossible to hide anything from him, let alone something so obvious.

Lily's screams still filtered down from upstairs and the detective asked "John?"

"Hi, how's the case going?" he asked as casually as possible.

"Solved." Sherlock replied as he came up to stand at John's shoulder, "Why is Lily crying?"

Because she has a terrible father, "Colic. There's nothing wrong, she's just crying." John tried to sound as matter of fact as possible.

"Why are you down here?" Sherlock asked, suspicion permeating his voice.

Sherlock knew, didn't he? He knew John had considered for a split second just walking out. John daren't look up at Sherlock to see the accusation that was surely in the alpha's face. "I just needed a break," he said with forced casualness.

"Is there nothing you can do?"

John nearly laughed. Nothing he could do, that was for sure. "Nope."

Sherlock was moving around behind him, taking his mobile and keys out his pocket, hanging his coat up. "Studies have shown that controlled comforting have been more beneficial than the `cry it out` method` for..."

John cut him off, "Go for it if you want, Sherlock. Nothing I've done has made a blind bit of difference over the past three days." It came out a bit more short than John had intended, and there was a tense silence between the two with only the sounds of Lily upstairs coming between them. He was sure the detective was staring at the back of his head, trying to figure him out.

If he did know anything, Sherlock didn't say and John was grateful for that. He didn't want to talk about his shortcomings in the early hours of the morning, sleep deprived and at his wits’ end. John listened for the sounds of Sherlock going up the stairs; the bedroom door opening and closing, letting out the sounds of Lily's screams briefly before they were muffled again. She sounded wretched, and the guilt assailed John anew.

He looked at the front door, before burying his face in his hands again.

oOo

John must have fallen asleep at some point, for he woke up in his chair with the daylight streaming in and his neck and shoulders aching from being curled up awkwardly. He at least felt slightly refreshed and his headache faded away, even if he needed a shave and a change of clothes. It took him a few moments to realise that the flat was quiet and, inhaling sharply, he turned to look around the living room for signs of life.

And there was Sherlock, reclining on the sofa and feeding Lily from a bottle, still in his expensive suit. Lily looked quite at home curled up against the expensive purple silk.

John wasn't sure what to say, the lingering shame and embarrassment strangling the words in his throat. "Did she settle?" he asked, his voice raspy from sleep still.

Sherlock nodded mutely as he continued to feed her, but he was watching John carefully.

Wanting to get out from under that stare, John cleared his throat and stood tugging down on his jumper. "Cup of tea?" he asked, trying to find a way to avoid any awkward questions. Sherlock nodded and John busied himself in the kitchen, away from Lily who seemed so peaceful without him. Leaving the tea bags in to the point that they were stewed, John set one cup of tea on the coffee table in front of Sherlock.

He hovered above them, cupping his own steaming mug in front of him again, not sure what to say or do. Lily had finished the bottle and Sherlock set it aside. "She looks tired," Sherlock said, with a slight frown creasing his brow.

"She will be, she hasn't slept much over the past few days." John watched as Lily seemed to fall asleep within seconds of finishing her breakfast. Was Sherlock waiting for John to take her from him? Would he mind if John left her there? "She looks comfortable," he nodded at her and retreated to sit down away from them to finish his tea. Sherlock probably knew best where to put her anyway, and he couldn't look at the pair of them much longer.

No one spoke and Sherlock pushed himself out from the chair, "I'll put her to bed upstairs,"he said. John made a sound of agreement without looking back and sipped his tea.

His strong tea was nearly half gone when Sherlock took his chair opposite John, and the doctor was no longer able to avoid that gaze.

"Good case?" John asked, trying to sound interested and to deflect the conversation onto something normal.

"Mmm..." Sherlock sank back into his chair, fingers coming up to steeple in front of his lips. "Murder that turned out not to be murder, but an elaborate suicide designed to frame an ex lover. An original execution of the plot, mildly interesting." Sherlock seemed to let go a sigh of disappointment. "But that's all finished now."

"Ah, shame." John half-heartedly agreed, but he was glad Sherlock was back until the next case took him away in a flurry of excitement and adrenaline, leaving him behind in this cocoon of sham domesticity.

"Quite." Sherlock's eyes were back on John, and he knew he couldn't hide from the detective’s scrutiny any longer. Broaching the subject seemed difficult for the alpha. "Are you...alright, John?"

John's fears had been well founded. Sherlock had started to notice. "I'm fine, just tired." He forced a smile at the detective who was surely not convinced. "Just not had much sleep. Med finals were a piece of cake compared to colic," he tried to joke.

The lines had come back between Sherlock's brows, as if he was trying to work out some problem he didn't understand. "Are you sure everything is ok?"

"Yes, just colic. It'll pass." John dodged the question.

"Is there anything...I should be doing?" Sherlock asked softly, clearly uncomfortable and unfamiliar with this tender approach.

John nearly had to laugh, "You already do too much - you're brilliant with her. You really go above and beyond what a flat mate should be doing."

Maybe that was a bit of an underhand tactic, pushing the conversation onto their non-existent personal relationship, which had petered out as they searched for Lily after she was born. But it clearly worked because Sherlock tensed, finally looked away and tried to brush off any implied sentiment. "She is rather interesting."

"She's a baby. They're not so interesting after five hours of crying." John tried to joke with a quiet chuckle, but it came out half-hearted and broken.

Sherlock fixed him with that intense stare and said seriously, "No, she's not just a baby. She's your baby."

John swallowed. Yes, she was his baby but it didn't feel like it. It looked like there was more Sherlock wanted to say, but John didn't want to hear it. He drained the rest of the cup of tea, and set it aside to wash up later. "I'm going to get a few more hours of sleep while I have the chance." He avoided the light blue gaze that he knew was still on him. "Thanks for last night, I needed the break." With an awkward nod, John left Sherlock to go hide away in his bedroom.

Sherlock was left alone with only his own untouched cup of tea. John seemed unhappy and he could not understand why.

He had done everything to make John's living arrangements as comfortable as possible. Sherlock had never asked him to pay for rent, gave him his debit card to pay for day to day expenses, provided for him in every way he knew how. It wasn't expected for any omega to work while they had a small infant, and when he had invited John and Lily to live with him that was what he had fully intended. John was interesting and wonderful, using his trust fund to provide for them was of little matter if it meant John could stay close and in his life. The only alternative for John would be temporary housing in a bedsit, and that was unacceptable for Sherlock. He didn't want to go back to the life of before John, and before Lily.

He was trying to provide as any alpha would; he wanted to prove himself to John that he was worthy for that role.

But John was obviously not happy. Was he not happy with Sherlock? Was he failing to prove himself as a potential mate? Or did John just not want him as a mate?

The thought of that possibility hurt Sherlock deeply - the thought that John simply did not want him, did not consider his erratic ways suitable. John was so normal, like a comforting cup of tea or a worn grip of a SIG-Sauer L105A2. Maybe he should try to be normal too; maybe that's what omegas wanted at home but Sherlock had no idea how to actually be normal.

Maybe it would soon get to the point that John would want to move out, and the thought gripped him in ice cold fear. A life without John and Lily would be as barren as before, but now he had had a taste of them filling up the spaces he hadn't realised had been empty, he could not go back.

He couldn't let John leave, but without knowing the problem he could not fix it, or rectify his own behaviour to stop pushing him away.

**Author's Note:**

> Any feed back is much appreciated, thanks for waiting so long for this!


End file.
